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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800185">the day you kissed a writer in the dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneolgia/pseuds/geneolgia'>geneolgia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Frankenstein - Mary Shelley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, M/M, One Shot, Yearning, feedback is very appreciated ive never posted anything serious before, gay people, i felt soft so i wrote. yeah, im impulse posting this i havent proofread it what you see is what you get, lorde song in the title yes im gay, so much yearning, this is like SO saccharine im so sorry, victor has no idea how to take care of himself</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:40:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,587</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneolgia/pseuds/geneolgia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>victor tries his very hardest to write henry a letter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Henry Clerval/Victor Frankenstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the day you kissed a writer in the dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so yeah i wrote this at like. 4 am on two different days so if it's hard to read i'm so sorry.<br/>follow me on tumblr for more gay literachure @corpsereanimator69</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The silence in the room was broken by the comparatively deafening sound of paper crunching as it was crumpled into a ball and thrown off the side of the desk, accompanied by frenzied mumbling. The candle on the desk burned low, and the sunrise was just over the horizon, but all Victor had to show for a night of work was a startling amount of wasted paper. </p><p>He put his head in his hands without another thought, leaning over the desk and sighing into his palms. He owed a letter, and he hated owing things to people. Including people he cared about. It wasn’t anything personal, it was simply that he preferred not to have anything bugging him in the back of his mind when he was trying to function. And usually, it would be easy. </p><p>Usually, he would scribble down a couple short sentences and be on his way. Usually he wouldn’t have gone a month without writing to his best friend. Usually he would have written to Henry first and then to everyone else, but he’d done the opposite this time.</p><p>Usually, his mind wouldn’t still be on the night he and Henry had spent together before he’d headed off to Ingolstadt, during which they’d exchanged moments, words, and… intimacy? Was that the word? Fingers laced together, simply sitting in each other’s proximity, remembering that they were there with each other and, come morning, they would not be anymore?</p><p>Well, obviously this was not usually. </p><p>Victor yawned, stood up, and looked around, though there was not much in the room to look at. Almost nothing, in fact. It was pitch black, and the only reason he knew where his bed was in proximity to the desk he stood at was thanks to habit. The soft glow from the dwindling candle on the desk didn’t help at all, and the melted wax had pooled in the base, making it dangerous to pick up and move around. </p><p>He didn’t need to look around anyway. Perhaps it would be the worse choice. He really needed to focus on trying to get this done. He’d promised himself that morning that he’d finish overnight, and, well, it wasn’t really night anymore. He leaned on his desk and stared into the pitch-black nothingness of his bedroom , hoping spacing out would bring inspiration. Instead, he simply found his mind wandering to their last night together.</p><p>
  <em>They lay together silently, the last thing passing either of their lips being a half-hearted joke from Henry, doing his very best to cheer the both of them up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You know,” Victor said, “we haven’t done this in years.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Done what? Spent quality time together?” And though Victor couldn’t see his face, he could picture Henry’s smirk clearly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You know what I mean.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ever so graceful with your language, my silver-tongued friend. Yes, I know what you mean. We haven’t simply taken a moment. One of us is always dreadfully stressed about something these days.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And you think I”m not stressed about Ingolstadt?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, I don’t have that much faith in you—” Victor smacked his arm, “—ow! I’m only teasing!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I think you’re trying to forget about it,” he continued. “At the very least, I am.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’ve got that much right. As excited as I am to finally be able to pursue my interests free from the ever-present prying eyes of my father, I know I will still miss home.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And you’ll miss me, I hope?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You definitely qualify as home, Henry.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s sweet of you—but be careful, it was almost poetic! We can’t go around having that.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Victor clapped a hand to his chest. “Me? A poet?” he said in fake disbelief, “Say it isn’t so!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m afraid so,” Henry replied darkly, “You’ve got a case of prose, Mister Frankenstein, and it’s exceedingly purple.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“How long have I got to live, doctor Clerval?” Victor gasped, barely holding in a snicker.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ten months, if you’re lucky.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The two found themselves laughing, trying to over their mouths as to not make any noise and wake anyone up, but they were dreadfully bad at the endeavor, and they felt like children instead of being on the verge of adulthood. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Once their laughing had subsided and silence fell again, Henry sighed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Speaking of poetry, though, I had something that I wanted to say to you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Please, Henry, if you’re going to say something, spare the flowery language. I can only take so much.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“But I- oh, I had a whole thing planned! You’re no fun. Oh, well… perhaps this is best said plainly, anyway.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Victor heard Henry shift closer across the pillows, ‘til he could feel his breath, short and…shaky? Before he had time to try to analyze it, though, he heard Henry’s voice, barely a whisper.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I think I love you, Victor Frankenstein.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Victor didn’t respond. Was it shock? Disbelief? Of course, he had to say something very eloquent and well thought out in response.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t make me say it again, my friend. Once was enough.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No—” Victor stammered, “I heard you. I got it. I-I mean, I understood—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“If there’s nothing to say to it, then don’t say anything. You don’t have to. If you want to tell me to leave, you are free to do so, and I will—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was Victor’s turn to interrupt him now. “No. No, p.ease don’t. Sorry, I just had to—” he took a deep breath. “—get myself together.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Did you?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“See the thing— well, it’s—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For once in his life, Victor was at a loss for words.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His hands fumbled about in the dark, but they found Henry’s face after not too long, then pulled it close, until he planted a soft kiss on it and quickly let go.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“…There.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Victor heard Henry nod, his head moving against the bedding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I see.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“If it wasn’t— if it wasn’t clear, that was me saying that I— that I think I— That I’m pretty sure I get it. That—that I feel the same way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That is to say, I think I may very well love you too, Henry Clerval.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Victor had thought he’d heard a faint mutter of “you’d better”, but he didn’t want to ask.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And though they held hands through the night, neither of them spoke a word after that until the morning came and it was time for victor to leave, and as he finally said his goodbyes to everyone, he found that his hands, his gaze, and, well, his heart — perhaps lingered behind a moment too long.</em>
</p><p>How was anyone supposed to write a letter in response to <em>that</em>?</p><p>Well, Henry knew. He always knew what to say, under any circumstances at all. Come to think of it, so did Elizabeth—it seemed as if everyone Victor knew was better at articulating, whether it be through speech or writing, than he was.</p><p>Victor sighed, opening the letter on his desk Henry had sent, dated a little more than two weeks ago, for the third time tonight.</p><p><em>My dearest Victor</em>, it began, in Henry’s telltale script - elegant and pretty, though perhaps a bit over-dramatic. It was the perfect reflection of its owner’s character.</p><p>
  <em>I have ruined much paper in an attempt to articulate this letter to you. So, if this perhaps finds you before you send your first correspondence, have no fear! for if my writing genius cannot perfect his work on the first try, do not worry if your lack thereof cannot.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The artistic rambles of a future marvel in the literary world aside, I have, frankly, been unable to stop thinking about the night we spent together before you left since we did so. And if I know you at all, Victor, I have every reason to believe that you have not either.</em>
</p><p>Henry was right.<br/>
(As always. How infuriating.)</p><p>
  <em>I implore you not to ponder too much about it. What I said to you was not the incoherent drawl of a mind deprived of his rightful sleep, but a declaration from the bottom of my heart. In truth, I had been pondering the proper time to confess to you my true feelings since you had announced your departure for Ingolstadt to — how was it you said? Pursue your dreams? — again, almost poetic… I may truly have to treat your ailment. It seems to be quite serious.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If it was not obvious, I had run out of time. But I believe perhaps my spontaneous decision to tell you that night may have been the right time. I did not need to make you consider canceling your getaway from the stresses of home simply for me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you will have me, however, I plan to continue my prolonged attempts to persuade Father to allow me to join you there. I have a plan, however, I believe i will wait to enact it until I receive your honest reply as to whether you wish for me to join you after all. I do not want to distract you from your studies — I know how important they are to you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I apologize for my usual “absurd flowery speech”. However, it simply is the way I am, and I do not believe I will make any efforts to change it for the foreseeable future. I do hope you’ll understand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you truly find it so repulsive, however, I will lay a summary of it all out plainly: Yes, I still love you in the romantic manner that I hope was obvious. I do also still plan to make an honest effort to join you at Ingolstadt,though do tell me if this all makes you truly uncomfortable and I will take whatever measures I need in order to ensure your utmost happiness.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have enclosed, as well, a short poem — for your eyes only. Do tell me what you think. I await your returning correspondence eagerly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With all the love a heart can muster, </em><br/>
<em>Henry Clerval</em>
</p><p>His signature, as always, was, for lack of a better word, dramatic. Victor found his finger tracing the loops with which Henry wrote all of his letters, the ghost of a smile on his face at their familiarity. He did not take out the poem enclosed, due to the fact that he found himself able to recite it from memory because of just how much he’d read and reread it when Henry’s letter had first come. It was short and followed no particular pattern, beat, or whatever it was that poems usually had. Victor fond that he preferred to to most poetry because of that — or perhaps it was just because Henry had written it for him, and for him only. </p><p>Victor put the letter back in its envelope and sat back down at his desk, still frustrated. The trip down memory lane was nice and all, but it wouldn’t mean anything if he never wrote back. So he did.</p><p><em>Dearest Clerval,</em> he began, as always;</p><p>
  <em>I wish to preface this by making it clear that I have tried to write this many times. Do not be upset that Elizabeth and my family have gotten word from me before you have—I have been doing my best to get this to you, but it seems my best is inadequate. That being said, I am simply writing whatever comes to mind, now, as trying to plan seems to be in vain. I apologize for any incoherence. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now that that is out of the way, I had best reply to your inquiries, as you have been waiting long enough for my response as it is. You should not have to sift through the torture of my lack of writing genius, as you would say.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nothing would ever defer my desire for you to join me here. It’s what I want most, and while Ingolstadt is not dull by any means, with  your company it would be ten times as enjoyable. Do continue to pester your father about enrolling with me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well — perhaps not with me, per se. I know he does not think much of me. Even less than my own father, if I may be so bold as to make that claim.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I, too, think much about our last night together. I feel perhaps I acted inappropriately in  the situation. In accordance with your arrival, I will immediately attend to romancing you as much as possible for me.</em>
</p><p>Victor paused, a drop of ink from his quill falling onto the paper. Was that too much? Probably. He crossed out the paragraph, but not so much as to make it unreadable. It was still quite clear what he had said. This was, most likely, his intention. He continued writing feverishly, deciding that he’d seal it for delivery immediately after he finished so he wouldn’t be able to overthink it.</p><p>
  <em>The poetry was lovely. Do send me any more you write. It brings me much joy to read, but I will say only having snippets of your writing makes one feel like he is lacking. I would recommend getting to it, and request you include at least one poem with any correspondence you may send.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He almost signed off there, but thought it might be best if he’d addressed their last encounter a bit more.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>To be honest, our last conversation — to be more honest, thoughts of you in general — has been on my mind more often than not. You’re admittedly distracting, Henry Clerval, but don’t you let it get to your head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I think it may be for the best, as my speech to you was likely incoherent thanks to the shock you gave me (was this your intention?), if I transcribe my thoughts here for you in their entirety.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I was perhaps mistaken when I said, as you may well recall, that I think I love you too. There is no level of uncertainty there at all, in actuality. I can say definitively that I do love you — there is nothing else to it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank you for your patience in waiting for me to get myself together enough to finally reply. I hope you are not too frustrated with me. </em>
</p><p>There. That was enough. Victor almost reread it, to look for imperfections, he told himself, but quickly dismissed the thought. He would never finish if he even thought about fixing anything in it, as one thing would lead to another and he’d be up all night again. He gestured physically, waving off his thoughts. No, he would sign off here. If he wasted any more time, he wouldn’t need the candle to see anymore.</p><p>
  <em>Thank you.</em><br/>
<em>- Victor </em>
</p><p>Victor yawned, sealing the envelope with his letter in it with wax as precisely as his shaking hands could. The post would be opening soon, he thought, looking out at the sun rising. It would be most efficient to go now, while he was still awake… But then his gaze wandered over to his bed and he realized just how tired he was.</p><p><em>Henry’s waited a month, he can wait a few more hours,</em> Victor thought, as he climbed between the blankets for some well-earned rest. <em>He would want me to rest a bit instead of sending his mail now, I’m sure of it.</em></p><p>When he finally woke up that after noon, Victor would rise to find his hair a mess, his clothes wrinkled, and his glasses bent slightly. He would also find the melted candle wax had hardened, and his desk a mess as well.</p><p>
  <em>But, really, it’s what Henry would have wanted.</em>
</p>
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